Skip to main content

Sweet Tooth

Can a chocoholic have other confectionary favorites?



Oh my, yes! Trophy Cupcakes  are my favorite cupcakes, particularly vanilla vanilla, that is vanilla buttercream icing artfully over vanilla cake. I'm lucky enough to have the sweet taste of buttercream on my lips and tongue just this moment. A strange favorite for the self-admitted chocoholic. It took my husband a year to understand my order had no chocolate in it.

I'm still a chocoholic but I'm particular about my chocolate-of-choice;  Nestle, Mars, Cadbury, Hershey's   even Ghirardelli's  doesn't do it for me. Grocery store-bought Guilian, Lindt Lindor Truffles  and Dilettante  work well; Toblerone  and Fererro Rocher  are delicious but do not hit my texture preference. Local confectioner, Boehm's Candies, is my clear favorite; specifically I'm partial to gianduja, but enjoy any non-alcoholic, milk chocolate confection. Okay, strike that. I can no longer manage carmel. I can manage nuts but once again, convincing Mr. Flink is an uphill battle.

I was treated by a Microsoft employee to a box of Fran's Chocolates  that I thoroughly enjoyed. Most recently, my daughter brought me a box of hand-painted Jinju Chocolates of Las Vegas. They were the lovliest, creamiest, and most delicately flavored chocolates I've ever tasted!!!

My favorite dessert was Creme Brulee´. The best I ever had was at the Rancho Bernardo Inn  in southern California, when I was all of 20. That spurred a life-long quest for it's equal, I never found it. However, I did discover a runner-up at Daniel's Broiler on Leschi. Sadly, I can no longer eat my favorite dessert; a cruelty bestowed by ALS, is that it causes foamy secretions.

I like my cheesecake, original, not chocolated, nor mocha flavored, but cherry covered is enhancing and wonderful. That is also off my table.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I Remember...

I remember catching fireflies,  putting them in a jar, as a girl of five. I picked pears off a tree that overhung an alleyway on my route home from school, then enjoyed the forbidden fruit. .I had a golden cat who chased a gray mouse through our living room sending my mother, 3-year old sister, and me screaming atop the sofa and chairs. We lived in a farmhouse and I watched Romper Room. A daddy longlegs skittered across my dirty kid legs as I teeter-tottered on a broken kitchen chair back. I played grocery store and laid out a bedroll for group nap time in preschool. We lived in an apartment attached to a bakery. My maternal grandparents visited and a photo was snapped. Grandma held Dawn and Grandpa held me. I held Grandpa's chin. Walking through the back of the flour-caked kitchen, I saw scrumptious pastries and colorful toys stuck in the cupcakes with my hungry kids eyes. We lived in a two-story apartment building next door to a large farmer's field.  That field was my...

On-the-job Sass

I continue getting sass from one particular caregiver. He says, "You need to communicate with us." he continues to completely miss or dismiss the concept of I would if I could . It is part and parcel to having ALS, I am losing my ability to communicate and it is his job to assist me. Part of helping me, like it or not, is to learn my routine and anticipate needs, when possible. He misses the fact that I'm failing more every day and night time is when I'm weakest. It is extremely insensitive and arrogant to expect me to cater to his needs and expectations. Pushing me to repeat words or expound on a simple one word suggestion is physically taxing on my system, adding stress which further depletes me. Cuing is supposed to be caregiver's domain, not the patient's. Here is the situation, I am being changed. In the midst of the action, as seems to be his practice, he is sidelined asking me trivial, meaningless, but energy-sapping questions. Do I want my legs raise...

Lashing Out

Fed up. Sick of hearing, "I'm sorry."  Apologies don't erase the pain you inflict on me. You pull my pubic hair. Your nitrile gloves pull the hair from my head. Not once in a while but day in and day out. You turn me in a manner that suits you rather than in a manner that doesn't stress my body. Why won't you use the pad and sheet to turn me as one unit? Instead, you allow my body to twist as you hold me one-handed. How good you are at your job. What part of "my muscles are dying" don't you understand?